


A Study in Faith

by rawrchelle



Category: Naruto
Genre: Family, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:54:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24290875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rawrchelle/pseuds/rawrchelle
Summary: Itachi only had one thing left to do. All he needed to do was to die, and yet he cannot let go. Of second chances, silver linings, and maybe just a little bit of hope.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 25





	A Study in Faith

When Itachi wakes to complete darkness, he thinks, _finally_. 

Finally, after all he’s lived through, all he’s suffered, all he’s lost. It’s over. He can finally see his parents again. He can finally rest. And when it’s Sasuke’s turn, he’ll see him again too, and he’ll finally have the chance to properly make amends. 

He thinks he can finally stop pretending. 

He thinks he’s finally absolved of his sins. 

He thinks he’s finally at peace. 

He’s just so _relieved_ that his journey is finished that it takes entire minutes for him to register the linen under his fingertips. That his chest aches with every fragile inhalation. That his eyes are wide open. 

The dread is an icy rope tight around his neck, and he realizes. 

He’s not dead. He’s blind. 

* * *

_Where am I where am I where am I—_

He’s supposed to be dead. The last thing he remembers is his bloody fingers slipping down Sasuke’s (oh, _Sasuke_ ) face. He could _feel_ the last wisps of life leaving his body, the sheer gravity of the fall as he hit the ground at his brother’s feet. There was no mistaking it. _He had died._

(And he was so sure he heard his mother calling his name, beckoning him home—)

_Where am I where is Sasuke what do I do next—_

Who could have brought him back? Who could have saved him? What insane doctor deemed Uchiha Itachi worthy of life? And more importantly, does Sasuke know he’s alive?

The floor is smooth and cold under his bare feet, but he hardly makes it three steps before tripping over something. His body makes only a dull thump against the floor, but something much louder crashes down, the sound of something metallic, and his head spins and the panic is dizzying because _where is he and where is Sasuke and what does he do next?_

* * *

He breaks the arm of the first person who tries to help him up. The snap of his bone is easy and practiced, and his cry of pain instills no guilt. There is no guilt, because Itachi’s alive. 

Because if Itachi’s alive, that means his job is not done. 

“ _Where am I?_ ” he hisses like a man possessed. His blindness does not keep him from finding the poor soul’s neck with ease, squeezing with a weighted threat. 

“I-In the local hospital, s-sir—please don’t kill me...!”

“ _Which country?_ ”

Itachi is left feeling lost as another nurse helps him back into bed. He had fought Sasuke in the heart of the Fire Country. How he arrived in the Waterfall Country is lost on him, as well as how long he had been unconscious for. His chest continues to ache as he breathes; the splitting migraine comes in waves. Whoever saved his life clearly could not rid him of his illness or fix his deteriorating eyes. 

He is weak. Weaker than he has ever been. 

How will he save Sasuke now?

* * *

He had it all planned out. Running his parents through with his katana had only been the first step—he knew exactly what he was going to do and how he was going to do it, exactly how many more breaths he would breathe than his parents. Itachi was, if nothing else, a man of meticulous plans. 

But surviving—surviving was not a part of his plan. 

He roars at his loss, practically shreds his vocal cords with the sounds he makes, and they know now not to help him, that they _can’t_ help him even if they tried, that there is nothing, no one who can help him—

* * *

he’s a failure he’s a monster he’s a traitor he’s a murderer he’s heartless soulless parentless brotherless _i couldn’t even save my own brother_

* * *

No one had deemed Uchiha Itachi worth saving. No one in this dilapidated hospital even knows his name. 

The truth is, he couldn’t find it in himself to die. That even after losing consciousness, his heart kept pumping and his lungs kept willing breath after breath into him. Even after Sasuke (darling precious irreplaceable little brother) stepped away from the battle the victor, Itachi laid there for hours until he was chanced upon by travelers, and he continued to lay there while being treated by a civilian doctor who served in the Third Shinobi War. 

He had hoped his survival meant redemption, but now it means nothing, except that vermin always finds a way to survive. 

* * *

No. 

It doesn’t matter that he didn’t die. That’s not the point. 

What matters is that Sasuke believes he did.

“Sir, please. You’re in no condition to leave.”

“Will I die if I do?”

“Well, not consequently—“

“Then I don’t see why it matters.”

Itachi listens to the measured breaths. Counts the seconds from the clock on the wall. Counts his own undeserved heartbeats. “Please just tell us your name, at least. In case anyone comes looking for you.”

He’s already turned his back. “No one who matters will.”

* * *

He punches a tree in pure rage and hears the wood splinter under his skin. Bark cuts deep into his knuckles, reminding him that for him, pain is never ending. 

Navigating darkness had never been a difficulty for Itachi, but these eyes were for Sasuke. And they’re useless now.

( _can’t even save my own brother_ )

Itachi spends days wandering, following the cycles of birdsong and the warmth of the rising sun. He walks with tired, heavy steps and a tired, heavy heart. He misses Kisame’s occasional babble; at least it filled some of the silence for him and helped drown out some of the noise in his head. But now Itachi has no one ( _because he killed them all_ ) and the voices get louder every day. 

Insanity is befitting of him, he thinks. 

The voices reach their peak on the sixth day. 

“You’re definitely looking worse for wear.”

He continues to put one step in front of the other. He needs to find Sasuke. 

“Sasuke’s not at the Uchiha Hideout anymore. But you know that, don’t you?”

Itachi stops. Realizes that this voice is real. 

“What is he going to do next?”

He’s blind, but he can see the orange mask in his head. Can imagine the shoulders shrugging. “Not sure—you know how he is.” ( _you don’t know him you’re his older brother and you know nothing about him you only destroyed him_ ) “Your job is finished, in any case. Not that you’d be able to do much in your condition now.”

“Does he know peace?”

“Do any of us?”

Itachi sinks to his knees, into the cool evening grass. “Where do I go now?”

“Not too far. I may have use for you yet.”

And then he’s alone again. 

And finally, everything is quiet. 

* * *

Itachi’s childhood training made him a good fighter, his decision to wipe out his clan a good liar, and his time with Akatsuki a good hider. Itachi can conceal himself for years at a time, only letting others find him when he wants to be found. 

And he doesn’t want to be found ever again.

He doesn’t care what plans Madara has for him. He told him what he needed to hear, and now Itachi can die in peace.

But death is elusive. When he meets a wild boar in the forest, it whimpers in the presence of his chakra. When he collapses on the dirt path in the sweltering midday heat, someone rolls him into the back of their vegetable cart and brings him into town. When he wanders into the ocean, the waves bring him to a quiet cove that’s home to a few birds and probably several hermit crabs.

The emptiness follows him like a lost dog. There is no comfort in its company.

* * *

Until he decides—

No more.

Even if he doesn’t die, he will not live like a disease, at others’ expense and draining the joy from all that he touches. Even if he can’t live happily, he is an Uchiha and he will live in a way that would not make his father turn his nose in scorn.

He sells fruit now. People trust him because he is blind and the freshness and fragrances of his produce is clearer to him. He spends his day swimming in the scents of apricots and plums, peaches and grapes—he is good at it, like he is at most things he tries his hand at.

A talkative mother of two occasionally asks him where he’s from (to which he will politely change the conversation). An old man comes by regularly and purchases whatever Itachi says is the sweetest that day. Young women visit him nearly every day because apparently, blindness does not scare them away. He is sociable and kind enough, but—but.

He never forgets where he’s from or who he is or what he’s done. The wiser people grow accustomed to the distance he sets, and the more foolish people are continuously disappointed by how little he gives.

This is fine, he thinks.

This is fine.

* * *

He rarely dreams, but when he does, it’s of Sasuke.

* * *

The routine is easy. It is easy and it dulls the mind, the senses. Itachi may live despite all odds, but disease still makes him weak, which is why he knows when he feels her.

He remembers every chakra signature he’s felt, can match it to every face. So when he feels her step into the marketplace, he can already remember soft pink hair and wide green eyes. Her chakra is easy and relaxed and he has half the mind to pretend she’s not there, but there is no doubt that she will recognize him, and if he does not kill her silent and quick, he won’t be able to kill her at all.

Call him selfish, but he needs to know.

Her gasp is barely audible when he practically flings her into a nearby alleyway.

“ _Sasuke._ ” The name is like lightning on teeth, like a slow death and a homecoming all at the same time. “Where is he? How is he?”

If anyone would know, it’d be her.

He has her pinned to the side of a building by the throat, and though she doesn’t utter a single word, he can feel her pulse racing.

One second. Two. Two too many—

Her punch knocks the wind out of him and breaks a few ribs. He lies in a crumpled heap, hacking and coughing. Each breath feels like fire.

“Wouldn’t _you_ know, you sick fuck?” What she calls him is cruel; deserving. And then: “You’re supposed to be dead.”

“Evidently,” he struggles to sit up, “I am not.”

His clear ineptitude is humiliating, but he perseveres. For Sasuke.

Her voice loses some of its edge with her next words, and he guesses she must’ve decided to make eye contact.

“Geez. You’re blind.”

* * *

The universe must have been feeling gracious to have Haruno Sakura, of all people, find him. There is a kindness to her despite her brutal strength. A softness to her edges. Anyone else would’ve killed him, but she saw something in him, perhaps in the same way she always saw something in Sasuke.

* * *

“He’s not home,” she tells him after she stiches his ribs back together. “He wants to tear down Konoha.” She sounds tired.

Nothing shows on the outside, but inside, Itachi reels—

 _He lied he lied Uchiha Madara is a thieving scheming_ liar _—_

_Did you expect him to tell you the truth? Is it ever that easy?_

He had wanted to believe. He’d wanted it so badly that he didn’t question what he was told. Never sought out proof for himself.

He had let so much time pass in his ignorance. Living a halfway decent life while Sasuke is still out there suffering. Itachi hates himself for it; the loathing comes deeply and naturally.

If Sasuke is attacking Konoha, that means…

“He knows the truth.” His voice is quiet, resigned. “I…” _I am nothing but failures._

“The truth? What’s the truth?”

He doesn’t answer.

“ _Hey._ Don’t think I won’t kill you or at least take you down in mutually assured destruction if you don’t tell me.”

He feels so lost, so heavy with hopes unfulfilled. He sees no reason not to tell her.

So he does.

* * *

It feels like a cleansing.

She listens with no interruptions or judgement. And when he’s finished, he hears nothing but her quiet sobs.

* * *

“We have to tell Tsunade-sama.”

“No.”

“It would help all of us.”

“ _No._ ”

“Why? Do you _want_ to be miserable for the rest of your life?”

“I don’t—” His throat tightens. She is rationalizing her way through his pride, and he does not like it. “I don’t…deserve it.”

She sighs. He can imagine her shoulders slumping, her green eyes downcast. “I know that death was your first choice, but what’s the worst that could happen? Execution? In which case you get to die anyway. But if not that, and if Tsunade-sama believes you, and Sasuke-kun finds out you’re alive and you guys gets a second chance…I mean, is life so bad? Is living a life with Sasuke-kun _really so bad_?”

She is rationalizing her way through his pride, and for the first time in a very long time, he feels—

Hopeful.

* * *

“But where are you going?” the talkative mother of two asks him. His lips purse, and it takes a heartbeat for him to realize he’s smiling. And he tells her:

“Home.”

* * *

_Sorry, Sasuke. Next time._

_I can’t today. Next time, alright?_

_I know I promised. I’m sorry. Next time._

There had never been a next time. There was never enough time. When it comes to Sasuke, there is just _never enough_.

* * *

He never thought he’d ever be in Konoha again with peaceful intentions, let alone in the Hokage’s office. It brings an ache of nostalgia to his bones.

Tsunade’s large voice matches her large presence. “Sakura’s report had been quite detailed, but I want to hear it from your mouth, Uchiha. All of it. Leave nothing out.”

And telling it again makes him weary because she listens with skepticism, not the unquestioning faith that Haruno Sakura somehow naturally had in him, but he does it anyway because he has nothing left. There is no contingency plan. He is sick and weak and starved of everything he lost when he was thirteen years old—

Maybe that’s why the Hokage believes him. Or maybe there are other factors unbeknownst to him, but what it comes down to is that she believes him.

And that changes everything.

* * *

“What do you think Sasuke-kun will say?” Sakura asks him as they walk, followed by four Konoha ANBU.

“I don’t know,” he says.

“Do you think he’ll still want to attack Konoha? Would he be satisfied just to find out you’re still alive?”

He sighs. “I don’t know.”

Her next question comes quietly, hesitantly. “Would you guys want to come home?”

Itachi doesn’t think the Uchiha clan has a home anymore, but it seems too cruel a thing to say to her. So instead he tells her, “I will go where he goes.”

The sun is hot on his face. Their steps are achingly slow.

He has always been a meticulous planner, mapping out every single possibility, every route, every death. But he had never planned for hope.

* * *

Between the massacre, criminal activities and self-loathing, Itachi has become a person who wants very little. He’s always been good at simply making do with whatever he had. So when he lost his sight, it was less of a personal hindrance and more of an indication that he had failed.

But _by God_ , does he wish he could see Sasuke one last time.

In this politically neutral area between Fire and Wind, with the wind rushing in his ears, he wishes he could see Sasuke’s face. Wishes he could read the exact emotions flashing across his little brother’s eyes when he says hello.

“Nii-san…”

But that’s almost as good, and it’ll have to do.

( _There are no more next times, this is it, this is next time, you have me for the rest of my life and I am yours now and forever—_ )

“Hello, Sasuke.”

**Author's Note:**

> I found this hidden away on my laptop and figured I should post it! I probably didn’t back when I wrote it because this doesn’t feel substantial or heartbreaking enough for my tastes, but I think we can all agree that we don’t need heartbreak right now.
> 
> Amidst uncertainty, darkness and fear—find the light. Find the hope.


End file.
